


Sedated

by VeteranKlaus



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [8]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drug Use, M/M, Overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 05:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21069422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: The first time he overdoses, he's eighteen years old and he doesn't mean it, really.Prompt: overdose.





	Sedated

The first time he overdoses, he's eighteen and he didn't mean to. 

Fresh out of the Academy and enjoying the freedom of travelling the city and hopping between clubs and bars and raves, along with motels and, often times, Diego's current abode, he had to admit that his little dabble into drugs got worse. Weed was a regular and, slowly, MDMA was becoming a regular as well. He could weasel a pill out of someone and enjoy the entirely new high it brought him. Weed was easy to get, affordable, and it served it's purpose of getting rid of the ghosts. MDMA definitely got rid of the ghosts, but, admittedly, he just enjoyed the high more. It was more vibrant, more intense. It was amazing. 

And this man, who he thought might be named Aron or Adam or anything else beginning with an A, had plenty. 

Diego had yet to learn about Klaus' increasing pill-popping, and now, rolling hard enough that he had seen his skin melt in the bathroom mirror, he knew it would be suicide to go back to his. So, when the man leaned close, breath heavy with the smell of vodka, and spoke above the pounding music, Klaus accepted his invitation home.

His home was some below average apartment, but who was Klaus to judge? Not when the man had hot hands and lips that felt like electricity on his skin, a whirlwind of his clothes being tugged and a shot slipping between his fingers, down his throat, hot and sharp. And oh, how he felt so alive. Everything was electric, pulsing beneath his touch, and he could hear his blood trickle through his veins and his reflection in a window was grinning, half-lidded eyes glowing, and he laughed. 

The man was attractive, from what glimpses he could catch of him. Blond hair and brown eyes, a strong jaw, taller than Klaus and with the beginnings of toned muscles on his abs, and his laugh was hearty and deep, and he knew how to kiss at Klaus' neck just right, the way his teeth grazed his skin and his hands traversed his thighs making him shake harder than he already was, worked his grinding jaw muscles lax with his own lips and tongue. His bedroom lights were heavy red and his stereo turned on at some point, music caressing his ears like a hand. It played inside his skull, knocked at his bones, trembled in his marrow. His teeth ground together absently, only to be relaxed by massaging fingers that slipped past his lips to deposit something small and circular. He didn't need to be coaxed to swallow it; if it kept this feeling going for longer, even if he wasn't entirely sure of where he was - on a bed? A cloud? A floor? Was he laying or standing? He didn't think he could stand, his limbs trembling so violently, his fingers twitching, curling around hair and bedsheets. - he was happy to swallow a hundred more, as far as he was concerned. 

There were hundreds of hands on him, touching, caressing, grabbing, and one moment there was a pillow beneath his hands and the next it was hard wood, then skin, burning hot, singing his skin, hands that milked pleasure and ecstasy out of him. The second pill hit slowly, rolling up like waves, like a coiled spring, and he knew he was being loud and he couldn't stop himself. His body did whatever it wanted, a mess of trembling, sweating limbs, grinding teeth and breathless moans. 

His heart was pounding in an attempt to keep up with the speed of which everything was going at, and, for a few moments, everything would die, go dark and silent as if someone had pulled the plug to his brain, only to reignite with a fury. His mouth was dry, his jaw hurt, and his chest ached. The world was spinning. Hands on his hips, he was being kissed. He felt like he might be sick. He couldn't breathe. 

Everything went dark. Everything sparked back to life. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. He could feel, and he could feel fire. Something was wrong. He tried to speak, tried to lift his head from where it dangled over the edge of a mattress, but no coherent sound left his lips. He tried to move, tried to shove and kick. His stomach rose. The man stopped, slowed, urging him onto his back. He couldn't lift his head up. Couldn't breathe; his throat wheezed, tried to pant against the devouring heat, tried to relieve the ache in his bones and his cramping muscles. Hands on his shoulders, pressing his chest back down onto the bed when his body arched away, and hands on his head, lifting him back onto the bed, turning to look at the blurred form of a person. Mouth moving, speaking silent words. The music cut off and he continued to pant like an overheated dog. Panic clawed up inside of him. His tongue felt heavy and dry, too dry to answer the man's increasingly worried and frantic questions, and everything melted together, his muscles cramping and, when they began to seize, he was unconscious again.

Flashing lights, red and blue. They reminded him of Diego, trying to be a police officer, or a detective, or something like that. Paramedics easing him when he began to retch, moving him so he didn't vomit on himself, and he didn't know what was happening. He wanted Grace.

Everything was sterile white and pleasantly steady. Nothing swirled, nothing blurred, nothing melted and trembled and collapsed. The only thing that shook was his own muscles, but even then it was less so than before. His head ached, his mouth still dry, limbs still pained and tongue fiercely sore. There was the distant taste of copper in the back of his mouth. 

"Klaus."

He rolled his head towards the voice and startled. His room was full, his siblings crowding his bed. He was in hospital, evidently. Allison and Vanya were red-eyed, and Diego was paler, his face pinched. 

"Do you know what happened, Klaus?" Luther asked, his voice tight. He was pale, too, his hands curled tightly into fists by his side, knuckles the same paleness of Klaus' waxy skin. 

He remembered a rave, remembered Heaven in the form of little pills, remembered being set on fire. Remembered things going south very quickly. 

"You overdosed," stated Diego. "You didn't come home and we got the call and - and..." He trailed off, huffing, chest heaving, fists clenching and uncurling. "Yo-you had a s-seizure, Klaus. You kept fainting."

Klaus bit his lip and looked away. It explained things. It explained the pain in his tongue and in his muscles, the fog in his head. 

There was an itch in his veins and he felt hollow without fire to devour him. 

"I didn't mean to," he murmured, his words heavy and slightly slurred. "Didn't know."

"Don't do that again, Klaus," Allison pleaded, her voice quiet, wavering, as she came close to grab his hand, her shoulders shaking. 

"I promise," he said, and he meant it. He hadn't meant to do it, and he didn't want to do it again. 

A few months before their twentieth birthday, Klaus found himself again twitching and panting in the backroom of someone's house party, coherent long enough to beg for his family not to be called. 


End file.
